


pink christmas

by Ibbyliv



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Christmas, Denial, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Past Relationship(s), Poetry, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:43:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2950877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/pseuds/Ibbyliv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>  and you never asked for rainbows<br/>you gave them away<br/>you morphed them in your hair<br/>all you asked for was rain</em>
</p><p><em>clarity and adventure<br/>chocolate and freedom and gender equality<br/>and maybe a new cleansweep that isn’t fraying on the edges<br/>but next thing you knew it was christmas<br/>and you should have been constantly vigilant</em><br/>*<br/>a monster</p><p>attacking a christmas tree<br/>ripping perfumed parchments into pieces<br/>inside her<br/>as you robbed her of her name</p>
            </blockquote>





	pink christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarberryCupcake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarberryCupcake/gifts).



> the return of remadora aka hello darkness my old friend  
> what am i doing with my life  
> i should be writing an essay on the Dada movement  
> aka the Defense Against the Dark Arts movement  
> and instead i'm writting bad poetry  
> like fucking bad poetry  
> i'm sorry  
> dedicated once again to my wonderful starberry-cupcake because yesterday i realized that one of my favorite remadora fics was hers  
> (sorry i keep bothering you with my shit)

**I**

angels turned to stars and the let you count them  
                and she stole the moon for you and it deflated  
                                and she learned to knit and make her own sweaters with every hue of the rainbow so that she’d remember who she was while you followed him behind the veil and she’d be drained of color  
                                                and it is the moon

and you could embroider constellations between her fingers  
and you could let it be christmas this year and next year and again and pretend you haven’t forgotten                    
and you could not be a monster

and you could

be the monster she prays you’re not  
                and you know  
                                like  
                talk her name in your sleep  
like you did that evening in grimmauld place

like you did with his  
                a century ago  
                                a book of history yellow and vomiting because they faded  
                one that forgot your name  
and swallowed his  
                and spitted it out  
                                but you can’t let that happen to her name  
                you can’t  
 _you can’t_

 _you’re wearing molly’s ombre sweater_  
               _you never asked for rainbows, really_  
 _when you were a little girl you would craft them between your clumsy fingers_  
 _with paper and glitter_  
 _and papa would wave his wand to help but wouldn’t let you see_

_you never asked for rainbows and shit_  
 _you learned you were supposed to be a princess and then growled that you were the dragon and then growled that no_  
 _why couldn’t you be both_  
 _and you found your shit on your own_  
 _and you showed them that aurors can be powerful_

_with pink hair and ripped tutu skirts_  
 _when they don’t get no shit from nobody_  
 _when they fail stealth and tracking and listen to weird sisters_  
 _and get drunk in pubs and have amazing sex with boys and girls and everything in between_  
 _because no one could limit you no one and you were made of flames and you were_

_pink_

_and you could do it it was working it really was_  
 _and you never asked for rainbows_  
 _you gave them away_  
 _you morphed them in your hair_  
 _all you asked for was rain_

_clarity and adventure_  
 _chocolate and freedom and gender equality_  
 _and maybe a new cleansweep that isn’t fraying on the edges_  
 _but next thing you knew it was christmas_  
 _and you should have been constantly vigilant_

_because a young auror that respects herself shouldn’t get trapped by a bewitched mistletoe_  
 _and get her stomach full with fireflies that prickled and swelled_  
 _until she was inside out_  
 _and his lips tasted of chocolate and firewhiskey_  
 _but you’d seen the latter on your cousin’s lips_

_you_  
                _should_  
                                have known

 **II**  
  
you were laughing in the kitchen, dancing your way around the counter, accio’ing the remaining firewhiskey and talking shit of umbridge  
                and if you were a poet you’d parted your lips and tasted the cherry blossoms  
                                off of the cord of her neck  
                but you’re no poet  
so your fingers interlaced and she stole the last piece of chocolate cake under your filthy snout and you wouldn’t have that because what kind of werewolf has his cake stolen

by a bubbly auror  
               who has failed stealth and tracking  
                              and her hair is a meadow of violets today  
               and her eyes  
and you can’t set a foot on the youthful dew without being stung by thorns

and you sneaked like teenagers in the living room  
                swallowing a secret spell from each other’s chocolaty alcoholic breath  
                                as if it was illegal  
                to taste like cocoa and chili and smell like cherries and have dead leaves on your hair because it is winter and it’s better than a flower crown because you’re a nymph and you need nothing to prove this  
but yourself

and here is the living room  
                here is the grandfather clock that shoots heavy bolts to every passerby  
                                   here are the christmas lights, one for every minute that ticks into darkness  
               and where you kissed him again by his mother’s portrait  
and when you died again with her blessing

                _and then redied_

 _as you morphed your hair_  
                _black and long and a beard and darker skin_  
 _and eyes that sparkled with mischief_  
 _you wish you could morph your laughter into a bark too_  
 _the way you morphed your breath into a husky hitch_

_and you offered him him_  
 _and he loved you as the hourglass inhaled_  
 _and then he hated you with a passion_  
 _because he said you weren’t you_  
 _and he loved you for you_

_he loved you_

_she loved you_

_**III** _

_it was christmas and she loved you and you craved her touch and you didn’t think of him even when he was in the same building in the creaky attic turning around from the hippogriff and bending in two_  
 _breathless_  
 _while you kissed her sweet_  
 _again and again_  
 _your hand on the satin pool of her back_

_wishing you couldn’t love her_  
 _wishing you’d just suffer without suffering more_  
 _but you loved her_  
 _and he knew_  
 _and he half-teased that if you hurt his little cousin he’d feed your sorry ass to kreacher and hex your fucking balls off_

_and the worst part was_  
  
 _you knew he meant it_

_he said i love you and then he took it back and rewinded seven thousand times_  
 _but you knew he meant it_  
 _and you knew he craved your breath the way you craved his_  
 _the way the candles flickered and the fire crackled and the fireflies inside your stomach swallowed you raw_  
 _the way you could take over the world and snog senselessly on the couch by the glimmering lights and then_

_then you exchanged christmas presents_  
 _a scarf you knitted without magic_  
 _he said you’d always keep him warm_  
 _and your world smiled_  
 _and you wore your wood-carved fairy earrings and kissed_

_him_

_that_

_the thing he had inside_

**IV**

a monster

attacking a christmas tree  
                ripping perfumed parchments into pieces  
                                inside her  
                unmorphed and even more dangerous  
as you robbed her of her name

as you had your scars laced together by her tongue  
                and shuddered at the moons reflected inside her irises  
                                as they captivated you in that same nightmare  
                that you debauched her with your claws and fangs  
as you did to them to your friends to everything you had in a green tide murderous like a curse and her hair was green

that christmas eve  
                streaked with red because she was feeling festive  
                                and she was a walking cliché  
                in a purple ugly hinkypunk sweater a little too short when she stretched over the table for another glass of eggnog  
with silver tinsel around her neck

her mouth on your mouth  
                her name between them  
                                she bit it off of your lips to take it away and you felt the need to protect it from the dust  
                and breathe its hideous beauty into eternity  
 _nymphadora_

_obliviate_


End file.
